


Trifles and Terrors

by Background_Foxe



Series: The Aziraphale Commandments [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: BSDM, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Monsters, Spanking, Sub Crowley, Supernatural Elements, Unexpected tentacles, dom aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 07:51:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19942729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Background_Foxe/pseuds/Background_Foxe
Summary: A growing relationship creates new vulnerabilities and unfortunately for Crowley he's not the only creature who notices it. Something moves in the dark, and it didn't even bother to send a change of address first. But who will be saving who?





	1. Chapter 1

*

Transformations were everywhere. Aziraphale had always loved the concept, a little thrilling surprise at the end of a mystery. What would it turn into? What would spark off those little changes? Nothing stayed the same, nothing was ever dull if you looked at it in the _right_ way, and those little changes often made immortality worth living (in a manner of speaking). Locations. Technology. People. Recipes. A kaleidoscope of possible excitement working towards an end goal that was simply ineffable and rather splendid at the same time.

He was not immune, of course. Little changes here and there, little habits that built up, changes to his location and his environment and his outlook and his needs and so many other things it was like a storybook in itself. A tale of an Angel’s exploration, although obviously needing a snappier title. Aziraphale felt he had grown as an entity, sometimes ill advised, sometimes well, but with meaning. And then there was Crowley, changing right along with him although this time with more swear words, dark clothing and dubious intention. 

Was it wrong to say that Aziraphale was proud of him? The angel wasn’t sure. He had a faint worry that it might seem a little patronising, that he was essentially patting the demon on the head and offering him a little jelly sweet for being such a Good Boy. Saying that, he _was_ proud of him, and - not to be admitted anywhere near Aziraphale’s Side - admired the demon for his skills and ability to adapt. The angel always had, if he was honest. Crowley was such a _sweet_ demon when it boiled down to it, attentive and dedicated and always leaning on the _nicer_ end of temptation. And now? Now he was attentive and dedicated on a completely different subject.

Aziraphale allowed himself a little private shiver in pleasure. Ah yes, their Understanding, an agreement that had turned physical and finding its own path for evolution as it went. Certainly it had been a bit of a rollercoaster as far as Aziraphale was concerned, twisting and turning and often feeling like they were about to fly off the edge and end up in a bleeding pile of soggy death, but surprisingly this feeling of nervous anticipation was .. well, _thrilling_. It felt both wrong and right at the same time, which was particularly awkward of it, and yet Aziraphale had rarely felt anything so naturally comforting outside of the crepe that he had discovered during one of his French raids.

It had started innocuously at first, of course. After the Scene task that Crowley had asked him to perform they had gone back to their respective homes and continued their usual routines, but as time went on something had eaten away at him and it wasn’t some horrible version of bedbugs either. It had caused much perplexity. For several weeks Aziraphale found the uncertainty clinging to him like a leech, finding his thoughts no longer his own, and worse, not entirely sure that he minded. Said thoughts drifted on anything, in the manner of someone finding images in the middle of clouds; the little whisp of cream in his coffee looked a little like a snake. The scent of peaches reminded him faintly of the scent of the demon’s skin. The flicker of flames spoke to him of temptations to fight. The spatula in the kitchen turned into a quite different beast for a much naughtier, skin-beating, purpose. And so on. In many ways it was unnerving, and in others .. well, in others he had plenty of ideas and none of them were particularly family friendly.

Aziraphale didn’t know who had started to bridge the gap, but he had a sneaking suspicion he had done it himself. Crowley had always made suggestions but never forced the issue, merely supplying the angel with a hint of what could be and the temptation he, Aziraphale, had to personally overcome. The desire to overcome it, of course, disintegrated over time and he found himself phoning every so often, just to check. Check on what, he had no idea. Whether the line still worked? Whether the demon was breathing? Who knew. All he knew was Crowley answered every time, and always seemed happy - no, _enthusiastic_ \- to hear from him, like a child able to have his best friend over to play whenever he wanted.

They’d started phoning more often. Just popping round with some excuse, whether that be a magazine clipping or a new plant or a box of chocolates or a new silk tie or some other random thing. Meeting up more often for lunch, or even the occasional dinner when Aziraphale was feeling bolder. Crowley had started giving him little bunches of flowers and, impressively, managed to give them in such a way that it felt casual, as though everyone should be handing their colleagues flowers just in case. Everyone had a language of love and apparently Crowley’s was physical offerings, a demon whose current communication pathways hinged on chocolate frosting and scented candles. 

Love… oh, he was probably getting a little too fast himself by calling it that, but it seemed appropriate under the circumstances.

And it wasn’t just the candles either. Little visits became longer ones; hours turned into overnights, Crowley sprawled out over Aziraphale’s bed like the world’s largest kitten or occasionally - and delightfully - snuggled up against Aziraphale’s back with the demon’s forehead resting on the angel’s shoulder. He’d deny there was anything in it, of course, but then he would be straight back again to sleep the rest of the night so close that Aziraphale could feel his heartbeat and hear the soft little noises that the demon made in sleep.

And then there were the Adventures, or the Explorations, or whatever they were going to call the physical sexual activities associated with The Understanding, but whatever it was Aziraphale felt it should have a capital letter associated with it. Whatever they were fooling themselves about when it came to the state of their relationship, neither of them could resist the physical pull of finally being able to touch, and this was exploited at most opportunities.

Like this evening, for example. Crowley had turned up with a box of doughnuts, two bottles of a rather strong cider that smelt as though it could choke a rat at five paces, a tight black t-shirt leaving little to the imagination - although Aziraphale’s imagination was rather good, if he did say so himself - and a grin that was wicked enough to start at least five bushfires and then begin a political campaign on Facebook. 

“Thought we could get cozy, have a drink,” he said carelessly, as though this wasn’t all planned out in fine detail already.

“Listen to some music?”

“Well, let’s not go too crazy, I know what your taste is like.” Crowley drawled, and all but slid into the room as though there was ever any question that Aziraphale would refuse. The door was shut and Aziraphale brushed some dust off his hands before turning, only to find that the t-shirt hadn’t even managed to last ten seconds before it was pulled off and dumped unceremoniously in a corner. The food and drink thankfully had made it to a table, but Crowley was already kicking off his boots and had a dangerous, hungry glint in his eyes that was .. well, quite thrilling. 

Quite thrilling but certainly uncontrolled, and that, dear friends and neighbours, was not entirely appropriate. It was another aspect of their relationship that had transformed in such a way that it felt so fast and yet so utterly _right_ , as though they had been working toward this balance of power relationship for several thousand years and they had only just caught up to reality. Having a demon like Crowley under his command was … well, exhilarating, if occasionally a little puzzling. Touch wasn’t enough. He wanted to master him.

Of course, if they were doing this then training had to be consistent, and Aziraphale pulled himself up to his full height as he studied the demon with the most serious expression he possessed. Said demon was unimpressed and his fingers moved to the buttons on his fly as Crowley stared insolently back, clearly daring the angel to do anything. 

Needless to say, the demon would regret such a bold move, but then that was the fun of the situation.

Aziraphale would have liked to say it was like a game of chess, but sadly he felt that their game - although spectacular - just didn’t have the pieces or dignity for such an analogy. It certainly had the strategy, the little bluffs and quick thinking to push boundaries and steer activities, and it certainly had a certain black and white element to it, but chess lost the rawness and, dare he say it, _messiness_ of their game. Their Understanding was a battle of wills, with hidden hits taking down battleships suddenly and without much warning, and certainly used a lot more lube than chess was ever likely to require.

And speaking of battleships, Crowley was certainly flaunting his as though Aziraphale had no way to sink it. He was, of course, entirely wrong but they would both have fun confirming the angel’s suspicions.

“I’m not sure whether you deserve pleasure tonight, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice was mild as though commenting on the weather, his eyebrows raised. Challenge accepted. Crowley huffed a little laugh as his fingers played with the fastening to his trousers teasingly, the golden flash of his serpent eyes both amused and serious at the same time.

“Did I ask for pleasure?” the words were a tease, the demon’s tongue flickering lightly.

“Does that matter?” Aziraphale’s head cocked to one side slightly in question. “After all, you have no control over what you get when you get here. I’m merely musing to myself what to do with you.”

“Oh, are you now?” The grin crept up at the corner of Crowley’s mouth. Hmm. The demon was certainly getting cheekier, and that seemed to be a direct link to Crowley’s investigations on how much he could get away with. That was part of the game, of course. They had both realised early on that they both needed a particular _scene_ before they could explore for their own peace of mind, and much of their foreplay - if Aziraphale dared call it that - revolved around the creation of such a circumstance to allow the game to continue,

Thankfully they were well balanced. Aziraphale’s need was a simple one - he could not punish the innocent. This was not normally an issue in Crowley’s case, but even for a demon he had to do _something_ to earn his admonishment but that something could not cross an invisible moral line that might make Aziraphale genuinely _angry._ Punishment and discipline was all very well, but he had to be in the best state of mind to carry out the activity without fear that he might take it Too Far in genuine annoyance, and he could never forgive himself if he hurt Crowley.

Crowley, meanwhile, couldn’t bring himself to be passively hit for no reason by … well, anyone. Standing there and taking it without some sort of justification didn’t settle well in the demon’s mind, and therefore he seemed to have glorious fun in manufacturing genuine reasons for his current Smiting. Certainly, those reasons may well be minor in comparison - although hiding the last of the custard creams was a floggable offence by anyone’s standards - but they still brought a necessary element of realism to what was undeniably a manufactured discipline session.

It was remarkably glorious, of course, all of it - every last perverted little second. Aziraphale had long wondered to himself what drew him to Crowley’s form, past disinterest in sex happy to disappear for a short holiday whenever Crowley offered himself up, and he had never really had a satisfactory answer to such a question. The demon was pretty, certainly, but many people were pretty. No, it seemed to simply linked to a strangely primal appeal the demon had over him, a draw that Aziraphale was powerless to ignore and it certainly all read like his Mills and Boon books, just with added lubrication. 

Said primal lure was still playing insolently with his trousers, daring Aziraphale to protest. The angel could see a flash of bare skin already, which was almost certainly down to the fact that Crowley had decided to abandon the concept of underwear for the occasion in a blaze of unsanitary glory.

“I didn’t say you could get undressed.” Aziraphale continued to keep his voice mild but there was an underlying firmness to the statement. 

“Didn’t you? Yeah. That’s terrible, really is.” the drawl was almost Western in its mannerisms, two steps away from a threat to pull out some pistols and start shootin’ and/or tootin’, whatever tootin’ actually was outside of the London district. It was, however, beginning to push against boundaries and Aziraphale could feel his heart begin to pick up pace a little at such a tease to his authority. Crowley was an undeniable and incorrigible scamp.

“For goodness sake, Crowley.” Aziraphale was still using his mildly stern expression, although his voice was automatically finding a new level to reach. “It’s people like you that caused spanking to be invented.”

“Oh, you have no idea how accurate that sentence is,” Crowley’s grin reached record proportions. Aziraphale reviewed that comment and groaned internally. Good grief.

“ _Crowley!_ ”

“Hey, hey, I just helped with the fun version,” hands held up as though in surrender although clearly unrepentant. Aziraphale’s lip pouted outward a little more as the stern look made it to his eyes. Still cheeky. Still careless, although he could already tell that Crowley was watching him in interest, clearly waiting to see how the angel would resolve this little issue. 

“Well, perhaps we should try out how good it is if you’ve already been intimately involved,” Aziraphale replied firmly, expecting another little twinkle in snake eyes. Instead he was greeted with a pause, Crowley’s expression growing more wary before the demon recovered and offered a soft pft-laugh in retaliation as he glanced away as carelessly as he could.

“Eh. You’d never do it.” 

Aziraphale’s eyebrows rose. Well, well. Crowley hesitating about a simple spanking? That _was_ interesting. 

“Is that the wisest thing to be saying right at this point?” Aziraphale felt the advantage settle in his court and attempting to keep the smug out of his voice. He failed, but he didn’t particularly care.

“Accurate though.” Crowley’s voice had a slight edge to it. 

“Is it?” Aziraphale’s voice was sweet and delightful as he clasped his hands behind his back and watched him. Oh, this _was_ fun! From earlier explorations he was fully aware that Crowley enjoyed the sensations of said spanking activity, the demon almost purring to a certain extent before the ‘ouch’ part arrived, but that activity had naturally emerged from an already enthusiastic wrestle and was more an exploration in sensation than a purposeful act of discipline. Apparently everything changed once the act was more meaningful and deliberate and _embarrassing_.

Wary eyes studied him again, clearly trying to assess how serious Aziraphale was.

“Perhaps you should remove the breeches. See what we have to work with,” Aziraphale’s smile was innocence itself. Crowley pfted again and tried to regain a little more composure. He failed. The angel’s eyebrow lifted in what he felt was a perfectly valid pointed gesture.

“Crowley. _Take them off._ ”

Ah, the sudden reluctance from one who was all but ready to strip and go tap dancing down the street in broad daylight. Crowley looked sulky.

“Ah.. don’t feel like it.”

Aziraphale’s smile grew brighter. “I’d strongly recommend you do it _now._ ” Pause. Bigger smile, with new and improved added menace to the words. “Please.”

They stayed like that for a few moments, just staring at each other silently, neither making a move. Aziraphale kept the happy smile on his face and a direct stare firmer than the average business handshake. Of course, Aziraphale was going to win in this situation, he always did. Certainly, the cheeky one - brat, if he allowed himself to call the demon that - might score a few points to pull ahead but there was no point in any of it if they weren’t caught and made to face their misdeeds in a little shower of mutually pleasurable activities.

Said brat-demon was still playing internal mind-tennis, Aziraphale could see that in his eyes. The humiliation of the practise versus the fun of the result? Always a curious match to watch. Finally Crowley made a growl deep in the back of his throat and looked away as nonchalantly as he could for one who was admitting defeat. Aziraphale’s smile grew, pleased and his voice grew brisk.

“Good boy. Now, I expect you to be fully naked and with your hands resting on _that_ table there by the time I come back.”

Eyes turned back to him in surprise and suspicion. “By the time you come back? Where are you going?”

“Ah, isn’t that the big question? Where are we _all_ going, Crowley.”

“Bugger the philosophy, where ARE you going?”

“Has anyone told you you’re a suspicious little soul?”

“Countless times, and personally I find it’s difficult not to be a suspicious little soul with someone threatening …,” hand wave as though it might illustrate the next word without him having to say it. “....that.”

“Spanking, you mean?” Aziraphale provided helpfully. Crowley growled again. 

“Yes.” he said through clearly gritted teeth. “That.”

Another sweet, sweet smile and a scowl back. Beautiful. It wouldn’t be Crowley if he suddenly became obedient, and the work was always that much better with some added spice. Turning, Aziraphale suspected he could hear a muttered ‘fuck’s sake’ behind him, but he didn’t worry too much on that. Trying to remove swearing from Crowley would be essentially the same as declawing a cat - painful for all concerned, and removing a very necessary defence mechanism. And besides which, once the ‘fuck sake’ had been uttered that meant that the demon had already decided to follow instructions, which just made Aziraphale’s heart happy.

When he returned from fetching his few things, the angel found the demon naked as requested but in essentially an artistic pose; fingers pressed against the table in what was technically a correct posture, Crowley’s back was arched and his head flung back as though posing for a magazine cover of questionable validity. 

“Well.” Aziraphale said after a few moments. “Aren’t you a sight?”

A slow, warm smile aimed itself at him, Crowley rotating his hips slowly and skilfully and slightly snake-like, and Aziraphale gave a little smile of understanding. Ah, he recognised this. This was the Crowley method of changing a ‘bad’ situation better - pretend that he was all for it and was serving his own purposes, and today’s purpose, apparently, was to pretend he was in some type of strip show. Well, to be fair Aziraphale hadn’t _banned_ him from doing so. Couldn’t punish for rules not known or unanticipated to be drawn up, and besides which Crowley’s hips were somewhat hypnotic.

“So-,” Crowley started but Aziraphale held up a finger and tsked at him. The demon blinked but the angel’s voice was soft but stern,

“No talking.”

Mouth opened automatically. Their gazes met. Aziraphale’s eyebrow rose politely, questioning whether Crowley really was prepared to risk things when he was almost so close.

Mouth closed again and there was a silent mouthing of words that Aziraphale would have bet were something along the ‘fuck you’ mark. Well, bet if he was that type of person, of course. Satisfied by Crowley’s course of action, Aziraphale prowled a little further around and felt a little kick of pleasure as the demon’s spine automatically stiffened. Good boy. _Sensible_ boy. The angel lifted his hand and gently drifted the knuckles of two fingers slowly and lightly down Crowley’s back, pleased by the little tremble of response and the softest of indrawn breaths from the touch. Beautiful.

Crowley’s hands slowly flattened on the table as he allowed his head to drop, his hips slowing their little dance as the demon focused on the position of Aziraphale’s fingers resting on the small of his back. 

“So,” Aziraphale murmured, a gentle breath between them. “What should I do with you?”

He was half expecting some type of protest that if you ordered someone to stay quiet then you couldn’t start firing idiotic questions at them as well unless you wanted to be a proper bastard, but the demon remained silent with his head bowed as though in worship. The angel was impressed. His fingertips lightly trailed over the rise of the demon’s backside, almost perfectly round from this pose and with the smoothness of a fresh peach and drat, he was getting a little too poetic about the whole thing. But still, it was a fine canvas, and his fingertips slid over the brand that he had put there himself which Crowley had refused to even try to remove. The smallest of shivers, the quietest of soft hisses that had nothing to do with pain.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that you were deliberately trying to be bad tonight.” fingers trailed across the warm skin, tracing the outline of the muscle and making the demon shiver again. “But you wouldn’t do that, would you?”

Silence and stillness. Aziraphale smiled to himself before delivering a short, sharp slap to the demon’s rear that seemed to echo in the room. 

“Well?”

Crowley lifted his head up, obviously about to speak, and then thought better of it. A shake of the head greeted Aziraphale’s question instead. A lying shake of the head, but it was better than nothing and completely unexpected; it was hard to put terms and conditions into mime.

“I’m not entirely convinced,” Aziraphale mused, fingertips now tracing a pattern over Crowley’s skin and seeking out all the points where he twitched. There was a soft little growl at this which stopped dead at another, harder, slap that made the angel’s palm tingle. Dissatisfied with Crowley’s current position, he pressed Crowley’s back to lower his pose, and then gently nudged the demon’s legs apart with his foot. Ah, perfect, simply perfect, and Crowley was being most compliant. It was slightly disturbing, but everyone had off days once in a while.

Another slap, and then again, and again, over and over as Aziraphale slowly built up a rhythm. The strength varied, harder and then softer again, selecting the best places to layer and responding automatically to the little movements and noises that increased step by step. His own hand was stinging but then Aziraphale would have been disappointed if it wasn’t. Crowley’s skin had taken a distinctly rosy hue to it and was clearly growing more sensitive as time went on, little movements darting away before returning stubbornly back again.

It was quite the workout, and all without a gym membership. 

His hand slipped between the demon’s legs almost automatically as the angel paused to give the demon a breather, stroking over the slightly furred balls - Crowley went for the furrier option, which was probably the furthest from ‘snake’ as he could - before running his fingers lightly over the heat of the demon’s length. And it _was_ hot, a little furnace of impatience, and Aziraphale delighted in the indrawn breath and muttered probable-curse as Crowley tried to calm himself down again.

“Good boy,” the angel murmured softly and Crowley groaned, a plea and statement of desperation as Aziraphale’s hand took a better grip and slowly began to stroke him. A slightly awkward position certainly, but it didn’t take long before the angel had found the best way to stand in order to achieve his target goal which was, of course, to reduce the demon back down to a little puddle of custard.

“..fuck…,” it was probably not officially called a whimper but Aziraphale was 100% it classified as such, and was incredibly pleased with the situation. Crowley’s head dropped a little more, his breathing now a series of gasps for air, and Aziraphale stroked him for a few more moments before pulling back, grabbing hold of a hair paddle brush he had placed nearby and firing off a couple of hard slaps onto the already tender skin. 

“Shit!!” The demon’s back arched and he all but howled the word into the room, the end of the word forming into a growl as he desperately tried to regain control. Aziraphale waited politely for Crowley’s breathing to stablise a little more before raining several more hard slaps onto a definitely glowing backside and then pausing again.

“All good?” he asked brightly.

There was an answer that was striving to hit the top percentage of ‘rude’, Crowley’s voice cracked and uneven. Aziraphale nodded to himself thoughtfully and added a couple more hard slaps to the mix.

“I mean… yes. Sorry.” The voice that Crowley was using was still geared toward ‘fuck you and the horse you rode in on’ but Aziraphale was willing to let that pass as the demon was genuinely attempting to be as good as realistically able. There was another little groan, a couple of soft gasps as Crowley tried to get his breathing under control, and Aziraphale was just about to add a few more gentle instructions to the mix when the demon pushed himself out of his position, swiveled round in a speedy but remarkably graceful move and pulled the angel into a long, hard kiss. 

For a moment Aziraphale had absolutely no idea - or care - what the world was doing outside of this activity. Crowley’s kiss was hard and brutal and desperate and needy and loving, the demon’s hand finding itself clenched in Aziraphale’s shirt as though to cling on for life itself, and the angel allowed him his moment of dominance as they followed their mutual desire to deepen the embrace.

Finally they broke away, foreheads resting together as they gathered both thoughts and oxygen, before Crowley glanced across at him a little sheepishly.

“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” the words were rough but sincere, but Aziraphale could always forgive him anything. Well, most things, anyway, and certainly anything to do with their activities. Aziraphale pressed a little kiss to the demon’s forehead and smiled at him fondly.

“That’s perfectly alright, sweetheart.” There was a little pause and then Aziraphale smiled again. “So, did you want to graduate to ‘messy’ or leave it there?”

Ordinarily he wouldn’t have had to ask but the demon seemed much tireder than normal, and now they were so close he could see the strain under Crowley’s eyes. Sure enough, there was a small hesitation that was most unnatural for him, and then a little apologetic smile as Crowley’s hands began to unfasten Aziraphale’s clothing.

“Sorry. Haven’t had much sleep recently. How about let’s get together and-,” he hesitated for the right word but Aziraphale was already happy to pounce on that.

“Oh, _snuggling_!”

“I was hoping for something a little less … _fluffy_ sounding, but yeah, snuggling.”

“I don’t know why you worry so much about the wording, there’s no one around to know.” Aziraphale chuckled softly as he started to help remove the clothing and gently steer them toward the bed. Crowley’s hardness seemed to be permanently pressed against his thigh which was a welcome if persistent distraction.

“ _I_ know.” Crowley pouted, but it wasn’t anywhere near serious. He shrugged. “Yeah, okay. Probably habit. You don’t get very far in Hell if you snuggle. There’s probably rules against it.”

“So no temptation snuggles?”

“Temptation prefers a more grrr vocabulary.” Crowley was successful in his attempts to strip Aziraphale of his fabric casing and tossed the clothing casually over his shoulder as he gently but firmly pushed the angel back onto the mattress and calmly straddled him. The demon gazed down at him for a moment before leaning down and capturing Aziraphale’s mouth in another gentle kiss that the angel was only too happy to allow.

“So, why aren’t you getting enough sleep?” Aziraphale queried with a small frown once the kiss had been broken for further oxygen demands. Crowley made a little shrug and rolled off, pulling the angel with him as he did so and allowing Aziraphale’s head to find a comfortable spot on the demon’s chest.

“Dunno. Probably too light at night,” Crowley offered a grin. “Big dark fan, me.”

Well, under certain circumstances anyway.

*

_Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. So very dark, a solid, imposing darkness that stifled any hint of light or movement, and even his serpentine eyes couldn’t penetrate through it. The heat was almost unbearable, a searing, gasping temperature that licked at his skin resulting in beads of sweat that ran down his bare form._

_Wasn’t the only thing licking at him either, and Crowley tried to move against the strangely moist touch that peeled itself over his thigh and his stomach and reached toward his neck, but something was pinning him down hard. Impossible to move, his breathing quick and panicked, and Crowley tried to yell something, **anything** as the tentacle reached his throat and started to steadily increase the pressure but nothing came out, nothing at all, and he could feel his head spinning already as the creature continued its assault-_

*

“Crowley, good lord, what on earth’s the matter?!”

Light. It was light. For a moment Crowley couldn’t remember where he was and to be honest didn’t care either. His hands gripped the sheets beneath him tight enough to hurt, his body felt both hot and cool from the sheen of sweat that drenched him and his heart still felt like it was attempting a jail break from his ribcage. Slowly things started to come back into focus. The bookshelf opposite, full of brightly bound first editions and, for reasons he didn’t want to understand, a small stuffed pink rabbit. The dark beige walls and warm toffee rug. The way the sunlight poured through the windows and made a checkerboard pattern on the floor. The scent of freshly made coffee drifting through the air, along with a slightly burned smell that probably suggested enthusiastic toast making rather than hellfire. 

And a gentle, cautious touch on his arm with worried wide eyes looking at him in obvious concern. 

Thank fuck for that.

Crowley allowed his eyes to close briefly before pulling himself together as much as demonly possible and re-opening them to fix Aziraphale with his most ‘couldn’t care less’ expression and a small grin. 

“What?” When in doubt, pretend nothing happened. This didn’t stop the angel’s worried expression, his hand tightening briefly on Crowley’s arm in support or possibly emphasis.

“You shouted something.” Aziraphale paused and added, apologetically. “Loudly.” 

Raised eyebrows, unbothered expression, check. Crowley shrugged as idly as possible. “Did I?”

“Something along the ‘arrrrrgghohshitohshit’ lines.” Aziraphale’s expression wasn’t shifting from Bothered, although his voice was careful. “I believe ‘stop’ was mentioned as well,”

Crowley snorted softly and shook his head. “Ah, Angel, it’s probably something from outside. I’ve just been sleeping, that’s all. Probably woke me up too. Noisy buggers, your neighbours.”

“My immediate neighbours are around seventy years old,” Aziraphale pointed out.

“Partying and weird stuff don’t have an age limit, that’s all I’m saying.” the demon shifted his position and began to lay back in what he hoped was a lazy manner.

“That’s true, but I suspect they’d prefer a cup of tea and a current bun at this time in the morning rather than some unexpected hanky panky. It would probably play merry hell with their arthritis,” Aziraphale still had a look on his face which suggested the conversation was just a little shield while the angel tried to assess what the problem actually was. Crowley pfted his best pft and continued on his mission to look unconcerned.

“Were you getting breakfast?” A pretty obvious guess there, Aziraphale held a butter knife in one hand and a tea towel with a little frog was draped over his shoulder. If he wasn’t then it would clearly be an unusual type of day. “I’d like a coffee,”

What he _actually_ wanted was a bottle of vodka and a straw, but he might as well start confessing through a loudspeaker if he was going to do that.

“A coffee,” Aziraphale repeated slowly, as though the word was unfamiliar.

“Please?” Crowley tried, but the ‘magic word that wasn’t Abracadabra’ wasn’t working. They looked at each other for a moment longer, Crowley innocent and Aziraphale suspicious, before the angel sighed and leaned across to give the demon a little kiss on the forehead.

“Okay.” Aziraphale’s voice stated that this was far from okay but he was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, even if the doubt was now slightly rusty and bent at one end from previous misuse. There was another little pause as though the angel was expecting Crowley to explain further before another soft sigh followed the first and the angel began to bustle back toward the kitchen. Crowley waited until he was completely out the room before he let out the breath he didn’t even know he was holding and flopped back onto the mattress to stare upward at a thankfully unexciting ceiling. 

Nightmare. Just a nightmare. They said the mind used dreams to work out all the stuff it had experienced, and Crowley had a whole heap of dark and creepy things in there all waiting to ooze out the corners. Couldn’t expect Disney, after all. The demon rubbed his throat ruefully, almost expecting to feel marks where the suckers had pressed against his skin and forced his windpipe, before dropping his hand again and glancing to the door.

Yeah, everything was fine. Angel would only worry and have those anxious eyes and try to be _nice_ and they were doing so well with Aziraphale finding his ability to push back. Nope. Didn’t need to be talked about, didn’t need to explain, just needed to find some way to shut whatever it was in his head and get a bit of sleep that didn’t try to kill him in his subconscious. Ordinarily that wasn’t much of an ask, but apparently he’d pissed off Morpheus somewhere along the lines in the last week and the dreams were getting more and more elaborate. No, angel really didn’t need to worry about this.

On the other hand, Aziraphale could worry about the leaves being the wrong colour or the milk being just on the cusp of turning sour. Dangerous to leave an angel alone with his imagination, it could easily grow legs and scuttle all over you in a menacing and unpleasant manner. Probably should comfort him. For the best. For angel’s own good, pretty much. 

Crowley pushed himself off the bed and padded, still naked, to where Aziraphale was playing around with a coffee plunger. The angel had enough time to look up and open his mouth to comment on whatever it was - weather or sanity check or a goodness gracious me type phrase that only Aziraphale could still think was valid - before Crowley looped his arm around the other being’s waist and pulled him in for a hug, the demon’s head resting against the tartan clad shoulder. For a moment there was tension as Aziraphale tried to work out what was going on, before that too relaxed into the hold. Crowley didn’t even need to look at the angel’s expression to feel it, the glow of happiness just seemed to get sucked up through his pores in a slightly horrible but accurate description and the demon felt himself slowly relax in its presence.

Fuck, he needed this. Never knew how badly. Aziraphale was like his own personal Duracell bunny, except smaller ears and a little less enthusiastic on the pink.

Crowley breathed out again and settled into the embrace. Everything was fine. _They_ were fine. No problems here.

And for one night that appeared to be the case. The next night, however, clearly didn’t get the memo.

*

_It was dark, so dark. Where was he? Perhaps he was back in Hell, which was definitely dark. Okay, that bit was mostly obvious - hell was underground and had a lack of windows and skylights which the Resident Professionals liked to utilise in their Pro Shadow stance. But in here there was darkness within the darkness, little black holes that could lead to anywhere, and he was loathed to look too closely in the creavases for fear of what might peer back out._

_And then there was the noise. Tapping, tapping on the walls. It was in his head and faintly vibrating through his body, over and over, gently at first but with a growing persistence that was increasing his nervousness. Crowley rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, blinked, and then squinted through the darkness and the steam that seemed to be surrounding him. It was the type of darkness that played with shapes, removing corners from rooms and readjusting perspective to confuse the viewer, and Crowley was bloody confused to start off with._

_Where was he? Where was this? Last thing he remembered was being slouched across his sofa in his apartment, a towel across his eyes, feet propped up over the arm and listening to the radio._

_Tap… tap… tap…_

_Damn, that was invasive. Crowley shook his head and then peered around the space again. Was this a room or did one of those patches of dark go back further than anticipated? Hard to tell. Hard to see. Hard to _breathe_ for that matter and that was probably the more pressing issue right at this point. The area was oppressive in many ways but the temperature - something he never particularly worried too much about being a) a demon and b) a snake - felt.. Weird. Airless. Stifling. Suffocating. Other words of a ‘bloody hell it’s hot’ nature from a thesaurus. And it was increasingly unpleasant._

_Crowley pushed himself up off the floor and made the unwanted discovery that the majority of his clothes were gone other than what appeared to be a pair of old battered trousers he didn’t recognise, which was disturbing in itself. Equally there was something unusual about his skin, very light patches of dark that for a moment he wasn’t sure weren’t just a figment of his imagination but no, they seemed to sparkle on occasion from the unexplained faint light source. The demon lifted his arm and tilted it experimentally, frowning. Didn’t make sense. Well, a lot of things in the world didn’t make sense, but this one seemed extra weird or perhaps it was more of an urgent matter because the damned thing was _on his body_ , and fine, there were other options for him should his body have issues but he _liked_ this body, this body had taken a lot of effort and had been with him for a long time and if anyone got to mess it up then it really, really should be him. _

_The tapping increased slowly, louder and with a quicker beat as though something odd - possibly in heels - was coming toward him._

_There was that feeling again. A slow trickle down his spine, and a nervous prickling over his skin which felt like his hairs were standing on end. Perhaps they were, it wasn’t as though he gave them orders, but no, it felt weirder than that. Weird on top of weird. And the dark seemed darker somehow, his breathing shallower, strained.._

_Another noise, a rustle, a ‘ting!’ where tings were not normally present. Was someone there?_

_“Is this some sort of bloody joke?” he shouted into the darkness with as much toothiness as he could muster but nothing shouted back. He wasn’t entirely sure whether that was good or bad but it didn’t progress the matter and he was starting to get irritated on top of his general wariness._

_Another noise, and this one froze the blood in his veins. Low, sucking, almost a growl, the vibrations lasting for a few seconds before lazily dying away again. Crowley glanced around him nervously but nothing obvious showed up, and fuck, that sounded like something _big_._

_CROWLEY._

_The demon spun around, one hand immediately moving out to defend himself, but emptiness stared back at him. The hand lowered uncertainly. No, it was there, it had to be there.. It had sounded so _close_. Where was it? He scanned the space again, everywhere from up to down to the full 360, but nothing, nowhere, and now he was feeling even more nervous than he had before._

_Okay. Calm. Breathe. It couldn’t be too bad. He was sodding immortal for a start, there were very few things that could happen to truly fuck up his day. And yet he didn’t put it past His Lot from giving that a go-_

_CROWLEY. I CAN SEE YOU_

_“Well, good for you,” Crowley continued to turn slowly as though he was a centerpiece on a wedding cake, trying desperately to spot where the voice was coming from._

_I KNOW WHO YOU ARE, CROWLEY._

_“ … good?” He wasn’t even sure how he was supposed to take that. He also knew who he was and parts of it were quite good, depending on perspective. A fear game, Crowley suspected. Wouldn’t be the first time, wouldn’t be the last, and didn’t - normally didn’t - work on him. And yet for some reason it was._

_I’M COMING FOR HIM, CROWLEY._

_“ Uh…?” Well, that had horrible connotations, and Crowley’s mind suddenly found a whole new chapter of worries to see. There was another movement, this time the rustling, slightly wet noise of a large creature moving in what sounded like a damp tunnel, which was pretty ridiculous in this heat but hell, no one said it had to be water, he had no idea what temperature blood boiled at and to be honest that was not really a question he’d ever thought of needing to answer._

_“ Who?” he shouted back. Okay, the demon could think of some names, and a name in particular, but it was traditional not to give the creature trying to Do Bad to you suggestions on where to aim it. For all he knew, the creature could be really upset with one of Crowley’s colleagues and had accidentally made it Crowley’s problem as well-_

_THE ANGEL_

_In the heat of the room Crowley felt a few pieces of ice add to his chest and refuse to budge. His heartbeat picked up a few new beats, the demon forcing his voice to cooperate and finding it slightly cracked when it emerged._

_“ Who? I know several-,”_

_There was a noise that sounded like laughter, low, dark, emerging from several places out of the dark, and Crowley spun round again fully expecting to see something loom out the darkness. This was His Lot, it had to be, and he was never comfortable with any evil laughs associated with ‘angels’ whether it be his one or not. Chaos had a habit of bringing friends._

_Bugger this for a game of soldiers. Rage battled with the fear and for a moment it won, Crowley standing up to his full height toward the most likely dark patch of black, both hands clenched tightly into fists as though this might in some chance help with the situation._

_“What the fuck do you want?” he didn’t quite yell it but it was damned close, and he almost leapt out of his skin as something fell on his shoulder, something heavy and wet and moving, slowly sliding and probing over his bare chest. Crowley immediately moved to pull it off but it proved impossible to shift, almost stuck to his skin and he could feel a strange suction feeling in several spots that went from tense to painful to agonising. And horribly, _horribly_ familiar. Gasping, Crowley tried pulling back but the tentacle kept its hold, the pain intensifying enough that spots started to float; out of the corner of his vision he saw additional movements but he was too slow to stop the next from coiling around his leg and another around his neck, slowly squeezing until his breath was forced out in gasps. Too hot. Too little oxygen. Needed.. _

_He only realised he’d dropped to his knees when the hard, rough stone floor cut into the skin. The tentacled limb had broken through skin, the wetness of blood slowly trickling down his stomach and soaking into the fabric of the shorts as Crowley gave one last effort to save himself, bringing his hand up in a desperate attempt to seize the creature. Only it wasn’t his hand anymore; the limb had turned into a shining, flickering surface of scales, and as Crowley stared at it in horror and slowly dawning realisation, the words came again as though carved into his head without bothering to wait for such niceties such as listening._

_I WILL HAVE HIM, CROWLEY._

_“..what are..,” his voice was barely more than a whisper but that didn’t seem to matter._

_YOU KNOW ME._

And it was during his protests that the demon finally, _finally_ woke up.

*  
Aziraphale had been having breakfast when the phone rang. Boiled egg in a little cup, toast soldiers wearing the correct amount of butter, a delightful cup of tea with a new range of tea-leaf, and the possibility of orange juice if he was feeling particularly daring that day. Ah yes, breakfast had its own appeal for the simple life and time to simply reflect on day to day matters. Important things like society’s progression, the impacts of technological advancements, and, more essentially, whether the neighbourhood cat had dug up his window box full of pansies again. 

He managed to say the ‘hell-’ part of the greeting before he was interrupted, which was slightly appropriate under the circumstances. What he was interrupted _with_ was a different sort of mystery as a sea of words flooded across the phone line as though trying to give Noah a run for his money.

Aziraphale waited patiently until it had died down a little, or at least when the demon decided he needed more oxygen. This took a while.

“So,” Aziraphale said carefully once the ability to get a word in edgeways occurred. “.. what _exactly_ is the matter?”

“Are you okay?” the words were almost thrown at him desperately, as though Aziraphale’s level of ‘okay’ directly depending on how quickly Crowley could spit out the words. The angel blinked,

“Well, yes. In fact, I was in the middle of tea, a really lovely flavour I found in that new shop just behind Welbeck Street-,”

Crowley apparently wasn’t in the mood for tea.

“Are you sure?”

“What do you mean, am I sure? I’m in a good mood, all limbs appear to be attached, I’ve got a rather cheeky little cupcake on the side waiting for a lunch time snack, and nothing has yet either blown up or destroyed itself in the nearby area. I normally count that as a win,” Aziraphale lowered his tea cup curiously. “Why, what are you _expecting_ to happen?”

Crowley did have his ability to be ‘odd’ every so often but this did seem excessive. The demon also was many things but an early bird was not one of them, and the possibility of another poor night drifted across his mind. The tea cup was put down carefully, Aziraphale’s mild mannered expression slowly developing a frown as he ran through the possibilities. Realistically there were too many to count, and a disturbing amount of them included explosives somewhere in there.

Crowley also had an ability to be evasive, which he apparently was still in the mood to employ.

“No visitors? No weird stuff?” 

Ordinarily Aziraphale would have found that a little frustrating but there was a hint of anxiety to Crowley’s voice that only turned up whenever the demon was genuinely nervous, and he was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable lump in his stomach that was unlikely to be the toast soldiers by themselves. He straightened in his chair, as though this might in some way transmit to Crowley the seriousness of the matter.

“Well,” he began. “ I did have someone at the door trying to persuade me to join some type of charity thing last night, but I’m not sure they count as weird. Actually, they seemed quite nice, they had a glossy leaflet and I liked the way their costume matched their bag. It’s the little details, you know?” 

“ Not a charity thing,” The words were through gritted teeth. “So there’s been _no one_? No shadows?”

“ I’m fairly certain shadows are a natural phenomenon.” Aziraphale replied carefully. “Are you drunk?”

“ What about really _big_ shadows?”

That probably counted as a yes. The angel sighed softly. Had the demon even gone to bed? No wonder he was bouncing around, he was probably on a strange alcohol-sugar high.

“Crowley, we did speak about your habit of using different time zones to justify drinking at early hours and I still think it’s a bad idea.” Aziraphale said reproachfully, pausing a moment to re-lift the tea cup and take a little sip. Still good. The flavour really tempted the palate. “And don’t ‘grrrrr’ at me either,”

His words held the smallest piece of sharpness to it to reprove the demon’s behaviour, partly because it was impolite but mostly because Crowley sulked but clearly liked the care behind the thought. Sure enough, there was a brief back track.

“I didn’t grrr, I just ... ,” he grabbed the first excuse that came to mind. “...cleared my throat.”

“Of course you did,” Aziraphale replied politely.

Crowley fought down another ‘grrr’ and tried to focus on the task in hand. “So everything is as it should be?”

“It sounds really nice when you put it like that. Yes, everything is as it’s supposed to be. My post even turned up on time today,” Aziraphale hesitated. “Or does that count as a ‘weird’ thing? I can’t think of the last time it turned up on time, quite often I half expect for it to be so late that it’s early the next day-,”

“Okay, okay, okay. Do you have any books?”

Dear lord, he was certainly drunk. The angel sighed softly again. They probably should have a Firm Chat about this type of behaviour. “I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.”

“Books on supernatural stuff.” Crowley amended.

“Gosh, let me think..,”

“Can I borrow one?”

“I’m a bookstore, not a library. Well, _I’m_ not a book store, that would be both uncomfortable and logistically problematic. Ordinarily I would love to encourage your ability to read, but not when you’re drunk. You’ll get the covers all sticky,”

“ I’m not drunk.” Pause. “And I’m not sticky either.”

“The likelihood of either of those things being true is pretty remote.” Aziraphale’s voice was sweetness itself. Crowley fought down another grrr and tried to find a swift route to politeness.

“Okay. Well, let me know if anything happens.”

“ Presumably anything bad?”

“Well, yeah.” There was a click as Crowley hung up. Aziraphale sat for a moment just watching the phone as though it might add a little more detail to the conversation, but it was simply remaining silent. Well, that was unusual, even for Crowley. 

He sipped his tea slowly and thoughtfully, running the conversation through his mind. He was in half a mind to pop over to Crowley’s apartment and check on him, but then there was no guarantee that Crowley was anywhere near his apartment and running around London trying to find him was a little too much of a needle in a haystack for Aziraphale’s liking. He could insist that the demon come around for a mid-morning snack, but he certainly didn’t want him in a car when he was alcoholically inclined. 

Weird stuff, bad visitors and books on the supernatural. Aziraphale winced slightly. Well, all of those things sounded bad when put together, but Crowley’s side had been relatively active for some time and ‘weird stuff, bad visitors and books’ could be their general tag line. 

More tea was sipped carefully and Aziraphale’s frown deepened a little more as he thought. He was sure that Crowley would ask for help if he needed it. Well, actually, no, he wasn’t. He was sure that Crowley would ask for help if circumstances meant there was absolutely no way he could get away without it, but then that was slightly better than not at all, surely? Ordinarily Crowley only asked for help in those matters where it was clearly obvious to everyone that he didn’t actually need help, just wanted a bit of company. Needing Real Help? Oh, that was a scary thing to a demon, very scary indeed.

He sighed softly again and a little bit sorrowfully. Such a pain sometimes. He really, really hoped the demon wasn’t going to hurt himself.

*

Bloody hell, this hurt. Really, _really_ hurt. Crowley rubbed his eyes and threw the sixth book of that hour into the growing pile of uselessness. How sodding hard was it for ancient texts and medieval whatsits to have an index anyway?! But no, all the books had to be written poorly with no real chapters and information all over the place and made up shit filling up the gaps between the possible truth. And then there were the ‘illustrations’. If it wasn’t some dark sketchy thing that could have been any dark sketchy thing then it was bored monks doodling in corners with weird creatures and aggressive snails attacking knights. 

_”For fuck’s sake!!!”_ he roared into the quietness of the library just in case it helped. It didn’t other than a brief moment of satisfaction, and Crowley growled again as he slumped into a chair and pinched the bridge of his nose with a hand. There had to be something. Somewhere, someone had to have written stuff because that’s what people did, they kept notes, they kept diaries, and sure the spelling was sometimes off and then they just drew things instead or doodled on walls or floors or _why the hell couldn’t he find anything?_ Bloody archaeological survival rates.

“Come on.” he implored whatever in the universe might still be listening. “Give me a break, here.”

The universe considered the matter for a brief moment and then decided that it was currently away from the phone and that any plea should divert to voicemail. The demon tipped his head back against the chair and closed his eyes tiredly. Damn, shit and buggeryfuck. Was this some sort of balance thing? He finds something good, something that actually makes a bit of sense through the years, and WHAM! Big scary night monster thing with tentacles. _Probing_ tentacles as well, and a shudder worked its way down Crowley’s spine at that thought.

Perhaps this was just his subconscious punishing him in some way. Couldn’t have anything _nice_ , it wasn’t in his contract. Sure, the world taunted him with little crumbs here and there, his apartment, his music, his car, but they were all trappings in a .. well, a trap. Enough to keep the prisoner happy and do his job or at least keep him out of people’s hair/hair replacement creatures. But Aziraphale? Completely different level, and always had been. The angel offered a slice of heaven in a manner that Crowley was pretty sure wasn’t Officially Sanctioned, and it was an addictive one. Every smile, every look, every shiver, and now, thankfully, every touch. Crowley couldn’t even begin to describe what happened to him when their skin met, and lost even more ability when it came to the sensation of the angel inside him, a beautiful mix of power and nervousness and protectiveness even as Aziraphale stretched him in ways that his body hadn’t really signed up for. Just perfect, that was all, and perfection needed to be defended at all costs.

How to do that, of course, was another matter and one where his faith was surely drying up.

“Oh, come on,” his voice dropped to almost a growled whisper in defeat. But what did he have left to do? This was the fifth library he’d broken into that night. He’d tried universities and their ancient text sections and the only thing he found that was faintly interesting was a series of 11 leather bound book written in Ye Olde English on the subject of werewolves and how to guard against such fierce furry wankers. The internet was absolutely no use, and kept trying to show him porn illustrations of things with tentacles. The organised churches seemed remarkably quiet on the subject of sleep beasts, although to be fair they had their hands full with their own issues. There were the occasional folk tale that sounded promising but just ended up into a bunch of herbs and squishy ingredients with stupid names.

He opened his eyes and stared up again at the ceiling of the library that had clearly been created from an older building. Bank, probably. Usually were, unless they were all turned into trendy wine bars. There were a few dark beams at the top, which was traditional for keeping the roof where it was supposed to be, and a few added spiders because why not. He’d done all the libraries in the nearby area without much hope it was going to improve the further he got out. What now?

What now.

Crowley growled in frustration to himself again tiredly. Sleep had been hard to get recently. Seemingly every single night the darkness kept creeping back, sometimes just a flicker, sometimes a whole damned scene, and each time he was thrown awake, panicked, heart racing with paranoid fears on bloody everything he could have a fear on. Not that he was scared of anything, no, he was just … 

… ah, he’d work out the public justification later. Too tired. Too tense. 

Of course there was another option. Hell didn’t exactly have libraries but generally speaking a lot of the Officially Bad Things - as opposed to the stuff that should be good but never turns out that way - belonged to His Side. Dark monsters with tentacles was almost certainly on the pay roll somewhere, although most of them probably were made redundant as soon as the ‘here be dragons’ vanished from the maps. 

As options went, rummaging around Hell for some sort of horror with a personal grudge against him was not an appealling one.

He rubbed his face again with his hand and sighed deeply. Well, it would only take a few hours, max. Go down there, avoid the beings he needed to avoid, and go root around different areas. Libraries might not exist but there were Order Books and demon catalogues and other bits and pieces lying around as off-cast from other torments, along with junk mail and stuff that said Random Role Hates This One Simple Trick! If he had a name then he might find out what was going on.

But what if it wasn’t Hell? Perhaps he was just going nuts. Perhaps he would spend the next five years without sleep and trying to find a reason why tentacles had a sudden and intense attraction to him. 

Perhaps he would start accidentally hurting Aziraphale during the night. Sleep walking. Sleep fighting. Sleep whatevering. Fighting against the creature only to wake up and find out-

Crawley chewed over that thought silently. Fuck. But no, no, things would be fine. No way he was giving this up. None. Fuck, no. If he was lucky, it was bound to be some supernatural beastie set to destroy him.

Wait.

He closed his eyes again wearily. Bloody hell, he was tired. Couldn’t rest, couldn’t sleep, anything he did was just rubbish. No. Had to keep them open. Hell, he was so tired that the shadows flickering in the corners seemed to move by themselves.

He paused. The shadows didn’t. Longer and longer, stretching out toward him-

CROWLEY.

Oh, fuck this shit. Crowley scrambled to his feet, grabbing his coat as he headed out the door as quick as he could without losing his dignity. But then again shadowy things that were moving, so perhaps the dignity could go off for a little while and bother someone else. And if it could turn up here then it could turn up anywhere and that meant other bookstores, perhaps bookstores with angels in them, and yeah, perhaps Hell was the next destination on his list after all.


	2. Chapter 2

There had been a break of eight days, fourteen hours and twenty three minutes since he had last seen the demon, not that Aziraphale was counting, and he was getting rather quite worried. Logically, he shouldn’t be, he knew that. Crowley was perfectly capable of looking after himself. He was, after all, essentially a professional mischief maker where extraction from the trouble was almost as important as organising it. Oh yes, Crowley was good at what he did, and yet that knowledge still did not improve his general concern.

Aziraphale made a little soft noise of worry and drummed his fingers lightly on the coffee table in front of him as he ran through his options. Probably should have gone across to check on the demon as soon as he’d phoned through the peculiar call, but he’d been a little worried of _offending_ him. Help and concern was all very well but Aziraphale worried over the possibility of interference. After all, their Arrangement was an understanding for a particular time; if he started rooting around in Crowley’s life then there was a real risk that he would be put off, and Aziraphale really, really couldn’t stand the thought of that, good heavens no.

However, the demon was still AWOL and that was definitely Concerning. Every so often Aziraphale would look beseechingly at the phone as though this might in some way encourage it to ring, and on a few occasions even approached it with the fleeting intention to phone, but this decisiveness always faded away too soon. It was too _needy_. Time spent with Crowley was blissful but he was his own demon and he had his own life to lead, and he would certainly not appreciate an angel checking up on him as though Crowley had gained a new parental figure.

Aziraphale wrung his hands anxiously for a moment before pulling himself together and going off to hand dry the dishes. It would be fine. Obviously. More than obviously. Definitely. And yet -

-no. _No_. Leave the demon alone and focus on the delicate china. Crowley was Aziraphale’s, and he would come back in his own good time. He _would_. He always did.

Oh, but he still worried. He did. And the silence was just not helping.

A knock at the door brought him out of his mind windmills and Aziraphale went to the entrance willingly. Perhaps another charity collector, or someone with some type of leaflet, or possibly even some cookies or-

“ _Crowley!_ ” His eyes sparkled with delight but his happiness was put on hold as his gaze travelled down the figure of the demon uncertainly. “... what happened? Wait, wait, no, come in, come in, sit down...,”

The demon stalked in but even in this posture Aziraphale noticed the slightest of limps that Crowley was clearly trying his hardest to hide. Shutting the door carefully behind them, Aziraphale followed behind the demon and eyed up the rest of the image. Slightly dusty and clothes ruffled around the edges. A smudge or two of either dirt or bruising or both on one of Crowley’s ridiculously high cheekbones, his hair looking unkempt and his nails slightly dark from some type of grime. There were scratches on his hands too, and the way that the demon was walking screamed ‘stiff in a bad way’ a little too much.

“Are you quite alright?” Aziraphale was feeling very concerned again, and not a small part protective as he moved to see the demon’s face. Crowley had his moments, some of them dramatic, some of them quite frankly inventive, and some of them probably best ignored until the fuss had died down, but he generally went through life with a flair and a sarcastic comment and just a little bit of a sashy. The Crowley in front of him looked strained, and not in a wholesome tea way.

A hand waved dismissively at him as though this might offer some type of answer or justification, but the eyes held an element of wariness to them and the tension in the demon’s body was evident. Oh yes, Aziraphale was feeling Concerned, with a capital C, and even more so as the demon made a bee-line directly to his drinks cabinet.

“Oh, no.” Aziraphale looked alarmed, mostly because he was. “No drink. You need to tell me what’s wrong,” 

Crowley slowed but didn’t entirely stop. The angel’s mouth straightened in a firm way.

“If you touch that drink I will _not_ be happy with you.”

And there it was, that wonderful hesitation, a flicker of obedience. A finger was poised over the bottle top, not quite touching but so very close, waiting, as though frozen in a moment. Finally there was a little sag of the shoulders, and the demon glanced across at him with all the sulkiness of a tired five year old ordered to go to bed when the sun was still shining.

“If you want me _all right_ then you could give me a drink.” there was a slight edge to the words.

“Certainly. Water or orange juice?” Aziraphale’s voice was kept deliberately cheerful, and raised his eyebrows in the faintest and most politest of challenges as Crowley’s pout reached record proportions. There was a small, silent pause as the universe waited to see which way the wind would blow. Finally there was a ‘pft!!’ of frustration and Crowley ran his hand through his floppy brown hair as he crossed the space and all but collapsed into a chair. The sulkiness still remained as though it was spray painted on, but the angel was willing to overlook the small issues in thanks.

However, the pout seemed to be the only thing that Crowley was planning to give him, and decent plans needed decent information. Or in fact _any_ information would have been nice. A slice. A slither. A murmur. But no, Crowley still seemed to be hunkered in with a pout large enough to balance flower pots, and Aziraphale was privately at a loss as to the best way to extract whatever it was that had troubled him.

Still, that wasn’t to say that he needed to tell him that. What was best for Crowley was occasionally a bit of firmness, and Aziraphale was delighted to notice the demon slowly begin to unfurl as soon as the angel gave him A Stern Look. Their arrangement had some odd benefits sometimes, the demon straightening as if by magic as soon as he thought that the authoritative look was in play. 

Crowley was still clearly in a snoot, a frown under his dark glasses and his bottom lip definitely extended, but as soon as Aziraphale had moved into his more authoritative position there was a little sideways glance and Crowley began to straighten as if by magic. Perhaps it was, in a way, their own private miracle that had no need of celestial help. Still, it was adorable, and Aziraphale hid his feelings of pride to ensure that Crowley did not try to wriggle off the currently metaphorical hook.

“Well?” The word was so pointed it could have painted itself grey and pretended to be an arrow.

Another little side look before Crowley glanced away. Aziraphale frowned and raised his chin a little to emphasise this was certainly not the time to start exploring new boundaries. Silence was a powerful tool, and currently the angel was intending to use it as a sledgehammer.

Sure enough, Crowley gave him another little look like a dog that knew it had stolen the last of the cookies and then sighed-growled in annoyance.

“Okay, fine. _Fine_.” he held up his hands as though in surrender, and then spent the next five seconds studying the left side wall. Aziraphale waited. He was good at waiting. Good things happened to those who waited, and certainly for those who also had the ability to discipline uncooperative demons if he so felt in the mood. 

Crowley growled again.

“I’m just..,” trail off again, although this time Aziraphale was willing to give him a little bit of a break since the demon looked genuinely stuck on how to continue that sentence. He was still tense, a little anxiety hidden in his posture, and Aziraphale could tell that wasn’t to do with him.  
“Yes?” he gently encouraged. The stick was rarely worthwhile without the carrot, and a little flush of protectiveness blossomed again as Crowley tried to find a few words that weren’t either random or curses. 

“I’ve got a problem,” he said finally and with sincere reluctance, his voice dropping a few volume notches as Crowley tried to analyse the left hand wall once again with such intensity that the left hand wall was probably feeling quite self conscious by now. He looked so unbelievably vulnerable, all floppy hair and uncertain eyes and reluctant possibility that he might - _might_ \- be in trouble. 

“I see,” Aziraphale paused and then gently nudged again. “And that would be…,?”

A miserable look aimed itself at him before the wall got another good seeing to. Hmm. Aziraphale drummed his fingers on his thigh gently, trying to think on it all. Sweet talking didn’t seem to be helping, and that was mostly His Side’s version ruled out other than possibly Righteous Smiting, and that was both unpleasant and needed a more dramatic backdrop. Friendly torturing seemed to be out too, Crowley tended to be more silent and pliant when he fazed into The Moment. 

“Uh. Is it something to do with your car?” he guessed. A little shake of the head. Well, that was something, and a fun game of twenty questions. Perhaps a few bits of charades as well, shouldn’t resist.

“My Side.”

Shake

“Your side.”

Hesitation. Bit of a shrug. 

“Ooooh, well that helps. Should I get out a notebook and keep track-,” 

Crowley aimed a look at him and Aziraphale held his hands up. “Ah, okay, no. Fair enough. Hmm. Demons coming after you?”

Another shake, and the smallest of pfts to suggest that it was a bit of an insult to think he couldn’t handle that. Aziraphale thought harder. Supernatural. Supernatural what, he wondered.

“Supernatural beastie.” he guessed, and gave a little squeak of happiness as Crowley looked wary. “Oh, it _is!_ A big, bad supernatural beastie - _hang on a minute-_ ,”

Wary turned to faintly sheepish. Aziraphale stared at him incredulously.

“Are you telling me you’ve been chased by a big supernatural beast for a _whole week_ and didn’t tell me?! _Crowley!_ ”

Sheepish expression tried to look back at left hand wall but Aziraphale was ready for him and stood between Crowley’s chair and the wall, arms folded and an expression that suggested that Crowley had forgotten to do his homework. Sighing in exasperation, Aziraphale unfolded a little as he thought it over,

“So, how big is it? Size of the room? Bigger?” Aziraphale started looking around as though expecting guests and then looking back at Crowley worriedly. “It hasn’t hurt you, has it?”

Another little shake of the head.

“Both physically and psychologically?” Aziraphale checked. There was a little hesitation before Crowley put on his best aloof expression and pretended he didn’t understand a word the angel was saying. There was a soft little sad sigh at this. Poor Crowley. He didn’t know whether to scold him for not telling him sooner or giving him a big hug and telling him that everything was going to be fine. OKay, everything was _probably_ going to be fine.

“So.” Aziraphale resisted the urge to clap his hands together which would probably go down wrongly. “What should I be looking for?”

Crowley was still in his silent mode, with a little scowl-frown for good measure. And he knew that look. That was the look that Crowley put on whenever he wanted to pretend that nothing was wrong and he was The Tough Guy but in fact was a little ball of vulnerability, and the angel felt another little tug of protectiveness for his demon. Poor Crowley. 

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Aziraphale was genuinely baffled.

“Be all .. _sympathetic_ ,” Crowley settled a little more into his chair like a hedgehog setting up home and gave him an aggressive, suspicious look. “I don’t want you feeling sorry for me.”

“Would I?”

“Oh fuck off, of course you would. You could give lectures on how to feel sorry for people. Really, really boring lectures and probably with a homework sheet.” Crowley fidgeted on the chair again and then growled as he looked at Aziraphale’s expression. “See? Your eyes are all .. ,” a hand waved expressionately and fruitlessly. “.. big and wide and _nice_ ”

“I’m sorry for my big wide nice eyes?” Aziraphale tried.

“I’m a demon. I’ve been on earth just as long as you have. I can look after myself.” Crowley snarled.

“I agree. Definitely a big tough demon who doesn’t need to worry about anything.” Aziraphale soothed.

“I could tear people into pieces if I wanted to.” Crowley continued his growl, another little wave of the arm as though it could bring up illustrations.

“Indeed. Although… well, let’s not, shall we? That tends to be messy.” Aziraphale winced slightly. Crowley was still on his wave of Grr, his voice growing louder with an element of hiss and a backbone that armadillos would be envious of.

“I could cause terrors! Bring forward strife and chaos.” he paused, trying to think of other aspects. “Steal every last blue smartie from the tube!”

“Oh, well that is taking it a little far,” Aziaphale was scandalised.

There was a long, long pause and Crowley sagged again, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes with his fingers for a moment before sighing.

“Okay,” the words were grudging but at least spoken. “It’s called a Tankerabogus,”

Aziraphale was silent for a moment before unable to stop himself. “I’m terribly sorry, it’s called a _what_?”

“Tankerabogus.”

“Tankerabogus.” Aziraphale repeated uncertainly as though the name might lose a bit more of its ridiculousness the more times you said it.

“Yes,” Crowley replied through gritted teeth. “One of those.”

“I’m not really familiar with Tankeraboguses.” Aziraphale replied apologetically. “Are they bad? Oh. Sorry, sorry, yes, of course they’re bad.” Pause. “Uh. _How_ bad, exactly?”

Crowley hunched a little more in his chair and his eyes darkened for a moment, flickering from side to side nervously. “They do bad things.”

Aziraphale was about to mention the fact that anything over Crowley’s side of the fence tended to do Bad Things, but decided to leave it. The demon looked haunted, and it took a great deal to bury through his armour to get that level. The angel crossed the space and crouched down by Crowley’s chair, gently resting his hand on the demon’s arm lightly as he tried to soothe him. Slowly, little by little, Crowley slowly relaxed, leaning against Aziraphale’s warmth and the angel felt a warm glow of happiness inside himself. It was like gaining a friendship with a beaten stray animal; that little flicker of trust out of a beaten heart was worth its weight in gold.

“It’s not really physical, I think. I don’t know. It appears but doesn’t seem to touch anything properly, it just _feels_ like it does in your head. You know, a bit like nightmares? You can imagine the impact and pain and pressure and wake up expecting there to be blood over the pillows-,” Crowley glanced at Aziraphale’s wider eyed stare and sighed as he tried to tweak the analogy into something more Angel-friendly. “Okay, those dreams with the cakes that are so real you wake up and wonder whether you might have accidentally eaten the pillow? A bit like that, except with more gore and dark and I CAN SEE YOU, CROWLEY and .. yeah.” Crowley winced and retreated further into his chair.

“My poor Crowley-”

“Oh, don’t you bloody dare.”

“Um, sorry. Yes, I can see the issue,” Aziraphale’s hand continued to stroke Crowley’s arm gently. “Is this only in dreams? At night?”

“Shadows.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale frowned. “So you’ve been sleeping with the lights on?”

“I’ve told you before, I sometimes I fall asleep and forget to switch them off.” Crowley immediately countered defensively. They looked at each other for a moment before the demon growl-sighed, closed his eyes and tipped his head back to rest against the chair. “Yeah, okay.”

“Well, you know what we should do, don’t you?” Aziraphale said brightly.

“Of course I bloody don’t, if I did we wouldn’t be having this conversation!” 

“Well, yes, good point. What we need to do, Crowley, is to perform a little bit of _research_.” Aziraphale looked happy. Crowley studied him for a moment.

“Oh, piss off. You think I haven’t done some,” he altered his voice a little higher in a sing-song voice. “Ree-search? There’s bugger all on this subject other than a tiny amount,”

“Well, it’s worth a shot.” Aziraphale smiled at him.

“You think I’ve missed something, don’t you.”

“Well, you can be a little _rough_ , Crowley.” his voice was a little reproachful.

“ _I_ can be a little rough? Have you seen the state of my backside recently?” Crowley protested, indicating toward said rear, before growling and withdrawing further into his chair. Yellow eyes looked at him and then darted away as though the demon was embarrassed, which he probably was. “I went back to Hell to find out some details. Now _that_ was a bit rough. Got the name, got a bit more stuff but other than that… ,” 

There was a little shrug and the embarrassed, vulnerable look aimed itself elsewhere again. Aziraphale watched him for a moment before beginning to stroke his arm again, gently, tenderly, soothing the clearly agitated demon and trying to ignore the signs that the information trip had met up with more of a scuffle than Crowley had wanted. Couldn’t ask about that, of course. The demon would tell him if he wanted to. For the time being, had to focus on the situation instead.

“So what details did you have?” he asked instead.

“Not much. Focuses on imagination. Old school thing, borne out of people having far too much time on their hands and needing to keep the kids in line. Oh, and explaining some of the aggressive weird shit your side does For The Greater Good,” Crowley curled more on the chair like a snake coiling himself up. “Dunno how to stop it. It doesn’t normally affect demons, we’re not really good subjects.”

“You need to have something to lose,” Aziraphale said softly. Crowley shot him a look ready to battle, but relaxed slightly at the sincerity coming the other way. Another lopsided shrug.

“Yeah. Guess so. And an imagination doesn’t hurt. Grows stuff already there.” Crowley glanced at him again. “Threatened you. You haven’t seen it, right?”

Aziraphale thought about that. “Does it have a penchant for floral dresses and red lipstick?”

“Not really, although to be fair it was pretty dark.”

“Then it’s unlikely.” Aziraphale smiled at him and stroked his arm again although he knew the worry would be far too clear in his own eyes. 

“Can I have a drink now?”

“No. No, we need to be clear headed for this.” Aziraphale was apologetic but decisive. Crowley sulked a little more but didn’t push it further, simply watching the angel as he thought. Finally Aziraphale clicked his fingers, patted the demon’s arm again, and then pushed himself up to trot over to some bookshelves. Crowley watched him go.

“Hey, I said I checked all the books I could find. Books, scrolls, toilet paper, the lot.”

“Ah, but you don’t have _my_ books,” Aziraphale said as he began to fish around some additional editions. 

“I seem to recall the reason for that was an accusation of being ‘too sticky’,” the demon’s voice was pointed. Aziraphale hesitated and then gave him a little apologetic look back.

“Well, yes, sorry. Had I known you had monster issues then I would have gladly helped.”

“Or you could just supply some wet wipes if you’re _that_ bothered.”

“Oh no, ruins the leather.” Aziraphale was back to his books. “And you may have _one_ glass of wine. This may take a while.” There was a pause as he remembered it was often better to supply some terms and conditions. “One _normal_ sized glass, Crowley.”

Crowley, who was almost certainly going to magic up a glass that could fit a whole bottle in it, made a grumpy noise but didn’t protest too long for fear that the rest of the alcohol would vanish. Aziraphale heard the little clinks as Crowley prowled to the bar and grabbed the drink, but the angel was too busy browsing through his book selection to bother keeping guard. He was fairly certain ‘a wine’ would end up being ‘a vodka’ in a wine glass, but the demon needed a bit of a reward and it would at least reduce the sulky look at least a little.

A while ended up being around half an hour; one book bounced him to another and then to another out the back, and even one that he’d had stored out the back which took a bit of digging to get to. Crowley wasn’t wrong, there was a remarkably small amount of information on his personal terror, but the names and the images kept blurring and changing and combining and Aziraphale felt a little glow of triumph as he hunted the elusive image.

“Crowley, I do believe I’ve found it-,” the angel hurried back into the room only to find Crowley swiftly returning a random dark bottle that he suspected contained some rum. Aziraphale sighed but decided to ignore that aspect in his enthusiasm, waving the demon back to his chair before plonking the open book onto the demon’s lap jubilantly. Crowley looked down at the pages suspiciously, turned the book to its side as he squinted at the writing, and then up again.

“Let me guess, a doctor wrote this,”

“Oh, it’s easy to translate once you know how, bit of a song and dance over the s and the f’s and the ink blobs are probably because the original owner had a bit of a run in with a witch hunter.”

“When you say run in are we talking about the usual ‘ow ow ow hot’ version?”

“Most likely. Anyway, this refers to your Tankerabogus. Did you see any pits?”

“Pits? What like arm pits, or DEEP DARK PITS?”

“The deep dark ones.”

“No, but I wasn’t exactly looking for them while I had other things on my mind, chest and crawling over my body.” 

“Well, thats… well, understandable. But I suspect it _is_ the same one. And if it is, then we’re in luck.”

“Yep, I’ve definitely felt extremely lucky over the last week. Luck, luck, luck, all the way. In fact, I was only just saying to the tentacled wanker who wanted to rip my guts out how absolutely _fortunate_ -,”

“Have you quite finished?”

“Not yet, I’ve got another couple of minutes of moan left in me.”

“Yes, you’re often proud of that.” Aziraphale decided to let the demon off. It had been a taxing time, and it was clear Crowley was working off lack of sleep, sugar, caffeine and alcohol. “It’s a type of boogeyman, Crowley.”

“Defeated by a really massive tissue?” Crowley picked up his glass again and took a slug, then waved down Aziraphale’s look coming the other way. “Okay, okay, sorry. Well, at least I’ve heard of those. Wait, isn’t that a _kid’s_ monster? How do you kill them?”

“Well, you don’t.”

“What?” The glass lowered. “Then what on earth do I do? Invite it out for a drink and hope it’s actually a really _super_ chap? How the bloody hell is that lucky?!”

“ _Well_ , I have a plan,” 

There was a little pause while Crowley eyed him suspiciously. Aziraphale beamed back, unabashed by the demon’s concerns. Well, if he had a nasty beastie chasing him, he’d also probably be a little suspicious of plans, but everything would be _super_. Finally the curiosity got too much for the demon to bear.

“Plan?”

“Oh, indeed!” Aziraphale clapped his hands together. “We’ll have this all done and dusted before you can say Jack Robinson.”

“That really doesn’t sound like a thing I’d say.” Crowley replied but he seemed a little more relaxed at the prospect that somehow, somewhere, someone had an idea of how to deal with it. “And .. uh, this plan of yours. Not risky, is it? It’s not going to suddenly go after you, right?”

Aziraphale’s smile grew fonder at the poorly hidden concern, and shook his head.

“No, no, you can’t pick up a boogeyman. It’s not like the flu.” 

“You sure?” Crowley frowned. “How _do_ you pick one up?”

“Flowers, chocolate and a ticket to the cinema - sorry, sorry, mild jest, ignore me.” the angel was feeling significantly more relaxed, and he could see his own peace of mind was soothing the demon by itself. And that was good, that was the first step, and he _did_ look very sweet with his uncertain expression. Crowley enjoyed chaos but never liked being out of control, and this was clearly trying to him. “It’s an individual thing.”

“As answers go that was pretty bollocks,” Crowley replied after a while.

“Well, bollocks or not, that’s the answer you’re getting right at this point.” Aziraphale looked brisk. “Now, we need to get some trifle.”

There was a long pause as the demon tried and failed to fit the subject of trifle into world events.

“Did you just say _trifle_? What, like custard and jelly and cream and those little sugary bits on top?” The demon frowned, and frowned a little harder at the happy nod. “ _Why?_ ”

“Because that’s part of the solution.” Aziraphale replied, holding out his hand to help the demon up. “And a few other bits and pieces. Come along, chop, chop.”

Crowley looked at the hand, then looked at Aziraphale, then looked at the hand again, muttered something that sounded like ‘oh fuck it’ before draining the alcohol and standing up again unsteadily.

“This better not be a wild goose chase,” he warned.

“No geese involved, I swear.”

Which was probably for the best, really.

*

He was sore. This wasn’t unusual nowadays, especially now that Aziraphale was gleefully exploring his little cute acts of dominance and every bloody tool, toy and kitchen implement that came to hand even down to the wooden spoon and door stop. However, this sore was less fun than all of that, and a little bit more unsanitary. 

Crowley adjusted his position in the car seat gingerly and drummed his fingers on the wheel as he waited for Aziraphale to return from his late night purchases from a nearby Waitrose supermarket. Apparently the forces of evil couldn’t cope with Tesco, or even Asda, which he could faintly understand - and the free cup of tea was an added bonus regardless of which side of the line you stood.

He wasn’t going to pretend to understand what Aziraphale was doing. He wasn’t even sure Aziraphale could _explain_ what he was doing either, there had been several different words and some hand waving, but the angel seemed deeply determined about his plan and truth be told Crowley really didn’t have an alternative anyway. The angel had a knack for turning quite frankly insane schemes into something vaguely okay, so Crowley was pinning his hopes on that.

Besides which, he really needed a rest. His foot hurt, his shoulders hurt, there was a claw mark down one side of him and there had been far too much scrabbling around in areas he normally spent most of his time avoiding. His reputation down in hell was … well, it depended which area you went. Rumours were strong and some of those rumours - such as strong or sneaky or looked after by Lord B or whatever - were good, and others were very, very bad. Far too many of the darker areas viewed Crowley as a sell out, remaining so close to humans that he might as well be a weird shaped one, and that never resulted in a good time whenever he had to spend more time than the average ten minute visit there. 

Still, he would heal. The only reason they hadn’t already was the nature of the injuries, all hell based and therefore with more kick than usual, but then the unpleasantness was always the claustrophobic nature of the area. It was worse than normal this time, for unsurprising reasons; the dark, the heat, hell some of the beings even had the various tentacles here and there, and the whole thing made him embarrassingly jumpy. Crowley’s fingers drummed again. Fuck, he needed to find some sort of solution and find it fast before he ended up a pathetic ball in a corner.

His thoughts were interrupted as the car door opened and a plastic bag entered, followed by a slightly out of breath Aziraphale who plonked himself into the passenger seat and nestled the shopping between his legs. Crowley eyed him.

“What, did you shoplift or something?”

“No, no, I just didn’t want to waste any time,” Aziraphale still had the bright eyed twinkly look of excitement on his face, as though he was about to say ‘eeeee!’ at any moment. Perhaps he was. Crowley eyed him a little more then shrugged and started the engine.

“Okay. So where next?”

“That’s a good question. There’s another place I wanted to quickly check out but it’s difficult to park-,”

“Ah, I’ll just park on the road. No worries.”

“Crowley, you can’t park on a fast dual carriageway just to pick up a flower.” Aziraphale replied reproachfully. The demon snorted.

“Of course you can, why d’you think hazard lights were invented?” he caught the look coming the other way and rolled his eyes slightly. “Okay, okay, that’s fine. And did you say flour? Like white, bread, wholewheat? Are we starting a bakery?”

“No we are not, although I have to confess that does sound very appealling. No, flower as in the bushy green growy thing in the ground.”

“A plant.”

“ _That’s_ the word, yes, a plant. I want that type of flower. It’s blue.”

“Pretty sure they do a whole range of blue flowers.” Crowley eyed him again. “Should I be worried about your sanity?”

“I know what I’m doing, Crowley.”

“Mm.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“To be fair I don’t even know what _this_ idea is.” Crowley sighed, but put the vehicle in gear and began to pull away. “Fine. Show me this blue flower that presumably you’re going to steal.”

“I’m going to utilise it, not steal.”

“Potatoes, pot-tah-toes.” Crowley shrugged. “Give me some directions.”

Directions were given, dubious parking was performed and a flower was obtained. Crowley eyed the flower nestled carefully in Aziraphale’s hands before taking a corner at a slow speed - despite Aziraphale’s complaints that they were a second away from crashing through a wall - and heading back to the bookstore. The angel trotted back inside with a purposeful look and Crowley prowled after him, still keeping his eye on the shadows and the surrounding areas just in case the tentacles were after something sweet and light and Aziraphale shaped rather than the more bitter Crowley meal.

Said angel was busy. Having already pulled out a number of ingredients from the shopping bag, Aziraphale had magicked up a mixing bowl in the 1960s style and was adding things to it with all the intensity of a witch on a potion mission. Some little silver things were shaken into the mix which was then stirred furiously again. Finally the little blue flower was added, Aziraphale saying something under his breath as he did so, before that too was stirred. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Crowley said after several minutes of what appeared to be sugar coated insanity. Aziraphale ignored him, closing his eyes and continuing his whatever it was under his breath. 

“You know this isn’t a christmas pudding, right?” the demon was slightly unnerved. More soft mutterings. Hmph.

“Well, I’m going to have a vodka.” Crowley added, which normally guaranteed the angel’s input but no, still soft mumblings and recipes and being ignored. He wasn’t sure he liked being ignored. Joking, conversations, ‘punishments’, whatever, anything was better than the angel pretending he wasn’t in the room. The demon grumbled under his breath and went to find liquid refreshment.

“Right. We’re almost done.” Aziraphale said finally after another five minutes and in a very triumphant voice. 

“Done _what?_ ” Crowley protested.

“Oh, shush and take off your clothes.”

The vodka glass paused mid-gulp. Well, that escalated quickly. Crowley finished the drink and then carefully placed it on the table as he surveyed the somewhat unusual sight of Aziraphale looking half crazed with a mixing bowl full of brightly coloured, generally wet mixture and brandishing a wooden mixing spoon at him. Crowley opened his mouth to protest softly but the wooden spoon waved at him in a determined way. 

“Right.” Crowley pulled a face before moving to the bed and pulling off the clothes, tossing them carelessly to the side as he did so. The lights were switched off and Crowley immediately stiffened at the sudden presence of shadows in a location he really, really didn’t want them. There was a very faint beat coming from somewhere, or was that just his overactive imagination? The demon tried to look over his shoulder but couldn’t locate the angel. Great.

“Very atmospheric.” he tried his best to sound nonchalant but it came off sounding irritated, which, quite frankly, he was. What the hell was all that research about if they were just going to do the thing that almost guaranteed the damn thing would be back and -

He froze, almost literally.

“Uh. That wet, cold thing on my leg. Is that you?” 

Still no answer from Aziraphale and now he was feeling a little rattled. Shouldn’t make him rattled. He’d seen worse, he’d done worse, he was an operative from the very pits of hell and they didn’t make for good interior decorating, and yet this was just an _annoying_ type of rattled, knew there wasn’t any danger and now the damned stuff was slowly trickling down the back of his thigh and _ugh_ and-

“It’s fine, Crowley. We’re good.”

“Very debatable,” Crowley snarled through gritted teeth, then hissed a little more as the wet, cold seemed to get _bigger_. “What are you doing?!”

“This is all part of the ritual,” the angel’s voice seemed to float from out the air.

“Well, stop it! I don’t want to taste better than I already do.” It was taking all his willpower not to move. He could still feel the dribbles work their way down his thighs, lazily bead down his muscles on their gravity induced mission to reach the floor and it was a horrible mix of ticklish and moist and unexpected stickiness. Crowley bit his lip hard, and tasted the strangely more comforting iron tang of blood on his tongue. Stay put, stay put… rituals sucked.

“What else does this ritual demand, exactly?” he asked suspiciously.

“A few more steps.”

“I’m not in the mood for dancing.”

“Crowley, with the deepest respect, please do shut up and let me work.” 

“Deepest respect, huh,” Crowley muttered but he remained quiet, although a soft hiss escaped as another dollop applied itself to the previously warm patch between his shoulder blades. It trickled slowly and laboriously down his spine, snaking downward with absolutely no urgency whatsoever. The demon closed his eyes, breathed in a little and told himself to ignore it. But bloody hell, this was hard.

Another splodge, and another. Finally he felt Aziraphale’s fingers on his skin and he almost cheered from the contrast, delicate, neat fingertips purposefully marching over his skin rather than the slow, heavy, wet sensation of damp whatever allowed to find its own way to the floor. He could still hear the soft murmuring but if they were words then they were too faint to make any distinction. The angel could be talking his way through a Chinese takeaway menu for all he knew or cared. Well, he guessed that the noise was soothing. Really soothing. But then the angel’s side was always pretty good at rituals and soothing noises and atmospheric expensive backdrops.

Probably a little bitter there. Back it up, back it up, and _god that was good_. That was a whole blown massage and muscle thingie that managed to be both utterly painful and utterly blissful at the same time, and Crowley found his body moving into better positions to encourage this line of thinking. The cold moisture stuff was now coming into its own, smearing into a base that made Aziraphale’s fingers dance, or at least ice-skate, across his body.

There was a purring noise and it took Crowley a good couple of minutes to realise that it was coming from him. 

“Don’t suppose this ritual has sex involved in it, does it?” he murmured back when he had enough braincells to do so. “Our dark ones normally have something sensual in it somewhere, even if it’s just mint choc chip ice-cream.”

“Nowadays my side are more .. uh, family friendly.” Aziraphale was faintly reproachful although the demon was pretty sure he could hear some wistful noises in there as well.

“Fuck that.”

“That’s exactly the sentiment we’re trying to avoid, Crowley.” A much sterner voice and fuck, that was pretty good as well. Crowley chuckled and closed his eyes again lazily. Well, as rituals went this was pretty good. Sticky, sure, but certainly relaxing. He arched his back a little more and raised his head, rotating his hips lazily as though about to burst into an unexpected salsa and other related dips.

“What’s the next bit?” Crowley asked lazily.

“I need to cut the beast out of you.” Aziraphale’s voice was matter of fact, if slightly apologetic.

“Oh, okay.”

There was a long pause, and then Crowley licked his lips slowly and deliberately, his head lowering again as he reviewed the next step.

“And when you say ‘cut it out of me’ we’re talking…,”

A long pause. Uncomfortably long. “Do you trust me, Crowley?”

“Oh, no, no, that is _not_ the answer you give to that question. Asking someone whether they trust you is the sort of thing you ask when you’re just about to do something really fucking stupid,” the demon’s back tensed again, but he forced himself to remain looking to the front.

“You will be completely safe.” Aziraphale promised gently, and hell alive, Crowley _believed_ him. Got to have faith in something, and right at this point every single last crumb was placed very firmly in the angel. The demon growled angrily but didn’t move, and after a moment the angel made a soft, happy noise as they both agreed that the lack of ‘fuck off’ was as good as a ‘yes’. 

Crowley froze again as he felt a much harder, colder point rest against his skin and slowly draw down it in a determined manner that suggested that it was planning to add a pattern. There was also a small glow forming behind him according to a polished surface, and Crowley eyed it suspiciously. The murmuring continued, soft and wholesome despite the threat of Dagger, and Crowley closed his eyes and braced his hands on the surface in front of him and forced himself to relax. He trusted him. If this was the only way to ensure that the damned thingie left them alone then that’s what happened.

Couldn’t tell what was happening though. The pressure and the cold and the dampness suggested that it could have broken the skin if it was sharp enough, or Aziraphale could have added some sort of trifle based numbing gel or how the flower fit into the equation or .. okay, there were a number of things that could have happened and crazier things had occurred previously. He took a deeper breath and focused. No burning agony. No screams. Going generally okay, yeah?

Aziraphale was still chanting something to himself, the knife slowly and deliberately following its path and the angel’s hand gently resting on Crowley’s shoulder blade comfortingly. When he reopened his eyes he could see the glow was still there and he focused on it, lost in the reflection, as the movements continued.

Finally the point lifted, the glow shut off with a snap, and everything suddenly turned very dark.

A few minutes later Crowley risked shifting his body experimentally. Seemed to be okay. No shadows. No tentacles. No bad feelings.

“Is it over?” he whispered 

“I think so.” the angel whispered back. “For this bit. Get into bed and _don’t turn around_.”

“I’m going to stick to the mattress,” Crowley pointed out.

“Then you’ll stick to the mattress. Just do it.”

Well, he’d gone this far. Crowley gingerly crawled into the bed and settled himself on his side, only to be joined by the angel a short time later after he had shed his own clothes. Crowley was about to remind him of his state again but the usually fastidious angel was having none of it, ignoring the little noises in order to settle down behind Crowley and wrap his arm around the demon to pull him into an embrace.

“I feel like a dessert.” Crowley complained softly, although it was more an observation rather than complaint. Aziraphale kissed his shoulder, paused, and then gently licked it as well.

“You are quite tasty.” the angel licked him again with growing interest. Crowley squirmed.

“Are you sure you’re not just basting me?”

“It’s fine. It’s over. It’s _out_ ,” Aziraphale’s voice was extremely confident as he snuggled closer, custard be damned, and rested his chin on Crowley’s shoulder. The demon paused again but couldn’t object. It did feel gone, the weight of the strain vanished from his shoulders, and he was about to add a sarcastic little comment when he yawned widely instead. Aziraphale purred softly, pleased.

“Go to sleep, sweetheart. It’s over.”

“What if it’s-,” another yawn, embarrassing. “...not..?”

So tired. And he didn’t even need to hear the response to that one either, Crowley’s eyes closing and his breathing slowing as he fell lightly into sleep. Aziraphale waited until the demon was clearly gone before kissing his shoulder again and smiling fondly at him. Poor Crowley. So many bruises and most of them essentially self inflicted.

Protection. Safe.

After all, these were scary things for a demon.


End file.
